


you hold on to what you see (i close my eyes to let you breathe)

by therewasclavisbutfuckclavis



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, F/F, Shaw's POV
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-04
Updated: 2015-07-04
Packaged: 2018-04-07 13:46:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4265445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/therewasclavisbutfuckclavis/pseuds/therewasclavisbutfuckclavis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It all meant too much, and she felt too little.</p>
            </blockquote>





	you hold on to what you see (i close my eyes to let you breathe)

**Author's Note:**

> hi!! i actually wrote this 5 months ago but never posted it;;; title is also from the song close by slow skies :^)

_hold me close_  
_i weigh down_  
_heavy heart_  
_a love apart_  
  
  
_hold me close_  
_i follow_  
_a faded you_  
_my love is see through_

slow - slow skies

  
**[x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x]**

  
  
“This isn’t working out, is it?”  
  
It’s easier to lay the blame on things associated with others.  
Not herself. No. It wasn’t her fault.  
Maybe it just wasn’t the right time. Maybe things just weren’t supposed to happen between them. They probably fell into some false security within one another. Something to make themselves both feel more normal in an abnormal surrounding.  
  
Or maybe it wasn’t even that. Maybe it was the way the others eyes always held a familiar warmth to them whenever they fell upon her. The low, gentle change of tone when she was addressed. The slow curve of lips at the mention of her name.  
  
They were all things she couldn’t stand.  
Couldn’t handle.  
  
It all meant too much, and she felt _too little._  
  
She knew all along she wasn’t like others - couldn’t feel like people.  
Humans.  
It never affected her much, after all, without feelings of sympathy, how could one pity oneself?  
  
“I don’t think this can go on any longer…”  
  
There was one feeling she could experience though;  
_**anger.**_  
Pure unadulterated **rage**.  
  
It coursed recklessly through her veins, made her itch with the need to hurt.  
Cause pain.  
\- _feel_ pain.  
  
It replaced - no, maybe just overtook any other emotion she should have been capable of producing. Because admittedly, at times she’d feel other things. A flicker of something hollow within her chest. She can’t quite put a name to it, but it isn’t a pleasant feeling. Neither does it engrave itself within her veins, boiling her blood like anger, no. But she feels it all the same.  
  
Then there’s the other one. The one that makes her feel like her stomach is going to do a flip - as if there’s something burning peacefully within her chest. A certain warmth.  
  
But they’re rare - timid, really. Barely making an appearance, and only managing to stay for a few lingering seconds before the same solid feeling of anger consumes her.  
  
Anger or apathy.  
She figures one isn’t better than the other.  
  
“Oh.”  
  
Regardless, she admits - finally admits that, okay, maybe it is her fault.  
Maybe if she was normal, could perceive the way others felt, she could understand how the other was feeling. Could understand the looks, the touches, the certain change of tones.  
But she can’t, and it’s something she never felt the need to dwell on.  
At least, not until now.  
  
Was this going to be the breaking point?  
  
Frankly, there was no doubt in her mind that nothing positive could come from it for either party, after all, they were both damaged. Too broken to fit in with normality. Too flawed to be in healthy relationships.  
  
Because what they had wasn’t healthy in the slightest. They were both selfish, uncaring, greedy. Only taking from each other what was wanted, - needed. It wasn’t perfect, and hell, it barely scratched the surface of normal, but for the two of them; for two deficient counterparts, it made life easier.  
  
So why couldn’t things have remained simple?  
  
It’s frustrating her, just like everything else in this goddamn world. Rage seeping into her veins, rushing adrenaline through her lungs with every inhale. She feels more alive than ever. More _angrier_ than ever.  
  
Her hands curl tightly into fists, wanting to be thrown recklessly, fury thrumming inside her, threatening to be released. Nails dig sharply into the skin of her palm, red crescents scarring tissue. She releases the pressure, just short of biting beneath broken skin - shy of tasting furious scarlet.  
  
And then she remembers who she’s with.  
Where they are.  
What’s currently taking place.  
  
Suddenly aware of hazel eyes watching her form carefully, she reigns in the growling beast inside her as best as she can. Lowers the racing heart in her ears to a steady hum.  
  
“Are you okay?”  
  
She sees the compassion in the others eyes before hearing the same affection reflected in her words. Doesn’t know what to do with it.  
  
“I’m fine.” She grunts, drops her head to the ground and stares. Avoids the other as best as she can in an attempt to calm every single pulsing of her own existence.  
  
“You’re not.”  
  
And she hates being so easily seen through.  
Hates the resentment she feels towards the other woman for knowing her too well.  
  
She listens to the sound of footsteps approaching her from where she sits, sees the tips of black heeled boots as they stop before her, an arm’s length away. Appreciates the distance, doubtful of her own ability to stop herself from complying to the frenzy; ringing bloody murder throughout her entire body.  
  
“You’re shaking.”  
  
Words filled with worry.  
Words filled with…-  
she doesn’t want to think about it -  
doesn’t want to understand.  
Feels scorching heat pounding against her chest.  
Holds her breath as it envelopes the beating drum beneath her skin.  
It’s warm, comforting.  
She finds it isn’t unpleasant and hates herself for thinking this way.  
  
“Because I’m angry.” She spits it out more harshly than intended.  
Isn’t sure which one of them she’s trying to convince more.  
  
Silence follows afterwards.  
An absence of sound, suffocatingly uncomfortable.  
  
She wonders if the other wants to leave, finds that a part of her strongly doesn’t like the idea of it.  
The hollow pit in her stomach fills with something akin to what she believes anxiety feels like. It ascends from where it slumbers, higher and higher until she feels it escape her lungs, feels it on the tip of her tongue, wanting to materialize into words.  
  
Before she attempts to open her mouth; to spill out things she’s sure to regret after, the others voice slips out; defeated.  
  
“Is it because of me?”  
  
She hears the cracks interwoven amidst fabricated poise. Already knows that lying in favor of leaving the others feelings intact would be unmistakable to both of them. So she remains obsolete.  
  
There’s a small hitch in the others breathing - an understanding, and she steels herself not to look. Forces herself to glare holes into the ground, nails biting into skin.  
  
It’s the same action as before, this time lacking the burning liquid rushing her veins.  
No, now it’s something heavier, stifling.  It smothers her with the potential to crush the air from her lungs, to squeeze the last breath from her body.  
She clenches her eyes shut, feels moisture building against her skin, heat seeping along her cheeks.  
She’s being stupid.  
  
“Are you…” A pause.  
  
And suddenly she’s right there, in front of her. Her voice is all the more clear, all the more closer.  
  
Gentle hands touch upon her fists, almost timidly, and she releases her hold, feels her breath cut short as careful fingers soothe red scores self-inflicted upon her skin. She’s kneeling down before her now, hazel eyes detailing her every motion.  
  
“You’re not angry.”  
  
It’s stated.  
  
She wants her to be wrong. Wants to feel the boiling rage she’s been so familiarized with for years - for her entire life. But it’s not there. Instead, she feels a muted dimness in the back of her mind. Hears the rapid beating of her heart pounding free from her chest.  Sees the affection melded with a sheen of uncertainty in the other woman’s eyes from beneath her own glossy ones.  
  
The uncertainty shouldn’t be there, she thinks. It appears foreign on her features. Her usual air of confident arrogance nowhere to be found.  
  
And she decides then. Barely even thinking about anything other than wanting to wipe away the very doubt and anxiety written upon fragile hazels and scarred skin.  
  
Hands reach out, clasping soft skin beneath calloused fingers, crushing her own lips against familiar warm ones feeling of resolve and tasting of adoration. She feels shaky hands grasp the front of her shirt, tastes salt on her lips and isn’t sure who’s tears they are.  
  
Eventually it ends, the need for air pumping through their lungs overpowering their want to pretend everything could be fixed so easily without words.  
  
She breathes.  
Stares into darkened eyes, finds the uncertainty lingering just slight.  
Feels the others hot breath against her damp lips, presses their foreheads against one another and closes her eyes.  
Wonders how to convey this feeling running rampant throughout her being that isn’t rage.  
  
It makes her hyper aware of the others presence. Feels the flutter of eyelashes against her closed eyes, the steady movement of a jaw beneath her fingertips as a breath is taken. Tastes her on her lips, smells that overtly sweet perfume that seems to follow wherever she goes. Hears her erratic nervous breaths -  
hears a heart thrashing wildly in her eardrums;  
can’t tell if it’s her own.  
  
She opens her eyes.  
  
“No,” She hesitates for a second, sees a flash of panic across the others feature and immediately regrets it. Presses her lips against warm skin as an apology. “I’m not angry.”  
  
And she sees it. Sees the understanding in hazel eyes, the unease brightening into something more sincere. Fights the urge to turn her lips upwards at the small quirk of the others mouth. Finds she wants to stop the slow movement of those lips with her own.  
  
“If you’re not angry,” Hands pull her own away from the other, holding hers out openly from below, thumbs rubbing light circles against the still obvious mars upon her palms.  
  
Her cheeks warm at the simple action and she feels like a stupid school girl.  
  
“Then what are you feeling now?”  
  
It’s in this moment she looks away, unable to look the other directly in the eye as she contemplates what exactly everything meant. She’s grateful for the patience, the passive repetition of fingers tracing her skin leaving her at ease.  
  
She thinks.  
Considers all that’s happened in the limited span of time they’ve been situated in this circumstance. Knows she’s to blame and feels the guilt rumbling inside her.  
  
She wants to lay the responsibility on the anger that resides within her. Wants to accuse it for all her wrongdoing. Wants to pretend that it wasn’t her cowardice to accept her own feelings that had caused the other such unwarranted pain.  
  
And abruptly she’s in that place again.  
That place of dark consuming madness which screams at her with such unabashed fervor; to a point where anything she’s felt before dulls in comparison.  
The all familiar adrenaline rush of animosity coursing through her veins.  
It’s all she knows.  
All she understands.  
  
“Don’t.” Her own eyes, clouded with violence, meet worried hazel.  
  
Accepts the gesture as her hands are enclosed by doting ones, firmly held as if to keep her anchored with the power of the others own certainty. She relishes the feel of lips against her own, wishes that the pure tenderness emanating from the other woman alone can suppress the corruption tainting her blood.  
  
“Don’t think.” The words are fragile, whispered faintly against her lips. They bring a sense of remorse to flow freely through her lines, feels it cling itself underneath the skin and bones of her breast.  
  
“Just remember.”  
She hates the melancholy attached to those words.  
“Remember how you felt just now.”  
Hates how those glassy hazel eyes gleam with the reflection of a fractured heart.  
“When you weren’t angry.”  
Hates that she can’t stop the trembling of the others hands in her own, no matter how hard she grips.  
“Okay?”  
Hates the way she forces her own voice down to the pit of her stomach, nods in place of it.  
  
“Okay."  A fake cheerfulness.  
Probably for both of their sake.  
  
Her eyes watch the other carefully as she gets back to her feet. Hesitates a second before releasing her hands from her own now clammy ones, immediately misses it’s calming warmth. She looks away when those same hands she released moments ago, wipe away the stray tears dancing beneath hazels. Feels like a wounded fool for the hurt that clenches at her chest when the other turns away from her, not wanting to be seen as she re-collects herself.  
  
The anger’s subsided, she finds, numbing down to a lazy rumble rolling beneath her muscles. In place of it, indifference gradually engulfs it.  
  
And for a second, she feels panic. _(( **Feels**._ )) Doesn’t want to be lost in the struggling war between anger and apathy overtaking her senses yet. (( ** _Not_ _just yet_** _.))_ She never wanted this; what they had, to be over. She never saw anything positive to come out of it, but she never saw an end to it either.  
  
She swallows her raging fear, her indifference tasting bitter down her throat.  
  
"I’m trying.” She blurts it out hoarsely, her words struggling to make it past the reawakened anger lodged within her chest. Stares at her hands as she clenches and releases them, trying to resist the urge to punch until she bleeds. Until they look how she wants to feel.  
   
She opens her mouth, wants to say more, needs to say more, but can’t find any words within her to express. Feels the rage collapsing itself onto them, forcing them down to a darkening abyss.  
  
“I know.”  
  
Lips brush against the top of her head faintly, almost as if they were never actually there, but it’s enough to have her reeling her anger back a bit. Enough to give her courage to look back up at the other woman.  
  
She almost regrets it at the genuine adoration shining past resigned hazel.  
Knows she doesn’t deserve it, or the bashful smile that follows after.  
  
“That’s all I want.”  
  
She keeps her mouth shut, nods like the coward she is and allows herself to be wordlessly dragged out of their resident hiding home. Away from the emotional roller coaster she had unwittingly thrown the both of them through.  
  
They’re both broken in their own ways.  
She knows this. Knows why she herself is broken. Knows what makes her different from the rest.  
But sometimes,  
sometimes she sees the affection hiding beneath guarded hazels,  
hears the slip up of warmth, bleeding into her name from familiar lips,  
feels the over protectiveness concealed behind possessive shoulders.  
gets consumed with guilt when she senses the constant waves of rejection and hurt derive from the other woman whenever she unintentionally lets her anger get the better of her.  
So she knows,  
knows the other woman’s broken because she’s the one breaking her.

**Author's Note:**

> sorry if there were any grammar mistakes or if anything was confusing! as always, thanks for reading!


End file.
